


I Think I Like You

by queeniesye



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Date, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots trying to figure stuff out, Romance, hopefully there will be no angst, more tags are coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniesye/pseuds/queeniesye
Summary: It all begins with a blind date that both Tifa and Cloud recklessly choose to take part in. But their newfound chemistry means both are more than willing to keep seeing each other again - with the intention of remaining friends, or becoming lovers in the near future? Who knows. It's all fun and games until someone catches feelings.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. I Think I Want To See You Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what came to me but I just had to write this down. I honestly am not sure how this will go 😂 All I want is to tell a story about two dorks figuring out their mess of feelings!

Tifa is standing nearby the entrance doors of a fine dining restaurant in Sector 7 of Midgar City. With the long mirrors on these doors, she is checking out her reflection: golden brown dual eyeshadows are shimmering her lids, making the crimson colour of her eyes more striking than ever; the suppleness of her lips are tinted with a raspberry pink lipstick to maintain a degree of sweetness on her image; a pair of crystal earrings are dangling from her ears, and her hip length silky brown hair is elegantly styled to complement her entire look.

The longer that she stares at her reflection, the more she wonders if she is doing _too much_.

From inside her clutch bag, notifications about new text messages have shaken her phone with subtle vibrations. She takes it out and finds that the messages are from a guy who calls himself _Fenrir0811_ – the person she is expected to meet in a few minutes time.

 _Fenrir0811: I’m here. The only guy with a brown plaid suit_.

Tifa is left with no more spare time to rethink the choices she has made for that evening. She inhales as deeply as her lungs can take and expels, hoping that the gusts of breath would carry with them the nervous bug in her system that’s causing her body to jitter.

She straightens out her backless sequin gold dress, ensuring that it sits neatly along her frame before making her entrance.

She saunters, tapping the heels of her glittering silver Valentine stilettos against the meteorite black marble floors, and runs her eyes through the scatter of tables full of sophisticatedly dressed guests. She is unaware that her presence attracts the attention of so many, if not all, in the vicinity, for her focus is only finding for _Fenrir0811_.

Somewhere at a table in the centre of the room, she finally found him – or at least the only guy with a brown plaid suit.

“Umm… Mr. Fenrir zero, eight, eleven… correct?” she greets him as she reaches the table.

He lifts his head up and looks at her with eyes as blue as the ocean under a warm summer sky. “Ah yes, that’s me.” His demeanour is a little awkward, a far contrast from his rather dashing appearance. “And you are… Ms. Anxious heart?”

She realizes how ridiculous her username sounds, now that he is saying it!

“Uhh… yeah, that’s me,” she says, embarrassed. “Do you mind?” she asks, pointing at the chair across him.

“Oh!” He rises up from his seat and hastens to pull the chair she is referring to out from underneath the table. “Please… take a seat.”

It is not exactly what she has in mind… in fact, she feels bad about making him get up to do her a favour. But then again, if she apologizes, she suspects the guy will apologize too in return and it will be a never-ending cycle of apologies between them. So she accepts his offer, sits down and thanks him instead.

She is now facing him in an uncomfortable hush as they await the arrival of a waiter or a waitress. The stiffness of his body tells her that he is as nervous and _painfully_ shy as she is. He seems lost, almost out of place and she recognizes that if this continues, the night will end unfavourably for the both of them.

“Why… did you choose Fenrir as your username?” she asks, a random question that pops into her mind for the sake of breaking the ice.

Her question seems to relax the tenseness around his shoulders a little. “Fenrir is a mythical creature that takes the form of a giant wolf,” he answers, drawing her heed to a wolf head earring on his right ear. “And I guess I really like wolves.”

“That’s fascinating,” she remarks, curious now to learn more about what else a guy who puts so much thought in creating his online persona has in store. “I made mine with less creativity.”

Her words pique his interest, “Why’s yours ‘anxious heart’?” His eyes are set on her like a jury picking apart pieces of evidence presented to him.

“I worry too much sometimes,” she admits, choosing to be transparent about one of her character’s many imperfections.

He crafts a smile on his lips, almost as though he is glad to hear her admission. “You and me… the same,” he says, to her delight.

The smile stays on his face for quite a while, leading her to believe that the first wall between them has been overcome. It is time to ram against the next wall.

“My real name’s Tifa Lockhart,” she introduces herself with a hand on her chest. “What’s yours?”

“Cloud Strife.” A name that suits those beautiful eyes, she thinks.

An apologetic waiter eventually arrives at their table with two booklets of menus. As they peruse through a long list of à la carte dishes, the waiter pours them two glasses of water. It does not take Tifa much thinking to decide what she wants to have for dinner. There is only one dish that appeals to her the most and she wants to read its name for the waiter.

Cloud beats her to it, “One chocobo tenderloin, please.”

“Make that two, please!” she adds, to which the waiter enters in his touchscreen tablet. She widens her eyes at Cloud, “I swear I’m not copying you.”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “We share the same tastes then.” When he lays his eyes on her, there is a hint of smile, “Shall we have a bottle of Mooglinart Rosé?”

“Yes please,” she blushes. They have read each other’s minds again.

The waiter bows and leaves them to patiently wait for their food in each other’s company. It gives Tifa the chance to sort out her mind to keep their interactions going.

“Why… me?” she hesitantly asks while staring at him to gauge his reaction. It is a question which has lingered in her mind since he asked her out for a blind date. Out of all the usernames and profile details in the instant messaging platform they are using, she really thinks hers is one of the most ordinary ones; she is just not good in coming up with witty captions to captivate her online audience.

His relaxed face quickly switches into one mired with trouble. “Do you… really want to know why?”

“I do,” she asserts, feigning composure. It cannot be that bad, right? Unless… he has some sort of a disturbing fetish or motive. She silently prays that he does not have one.

He looks away, avoiding her eyes. “There’s no… particular reason.” Tension returns to the language around his body as guilt leads him to retreat back into his shell. “My… friend insisted that I go out on a date and your username just happened to be the first one I’d taken notice of.”

For Tifa, the revelation comes as a shock – a _good_ kind of shock. “Oh Gaia!” she covers her face with her hands as shame flares her cheeks. “We really are no different!”

“Huh?” His eyes dart to her with speed. “What do you mean?”

She refuses to remove her hands, “I also didn’t think twice about agreeing to this date because my friend insisted that I find someone to go out with.” She sighs, “It didn’t matter if it’s you or anyone else.” She quietly spits a curse on herself for being too honest with him.

He does not offer her any reply, leaving them both in a silent limbo that compels her to move her hands away and gaze at him with eyes full of regret. But then the air clears and she oddly finds humour in their positions – and so does he. They let out snorts, which rapidly shift into a series of cackles that turn heads.

“Well, at least things are going fine between us now,” he states, sniffing tears of amusement away.

And she agrees. It was a reckless decision on her part, one that she thought she would regret for the rest of her life. But their meeting has been pleasant enough for her to think that it has gone otherwise.

***

The clock on a tall watchtower displays a time that reads ten minutes to midnight. But Midgar is a city that never sleeps. Vehicles continue to crowd mazes of grey winding roads; shopping centres are still open for late night frequenters; bars and clubs roar with booming music and flashing strobe lights to make people dance, and people still wander in the streets to socialize, ignoring the approaching of another working day.

Tifa and her companion, Cloud are making their way out of the fine dining restaurant, laughing about a childish joke that has recently circulated online. In the past five hours that they spent together, she learned so much about him – where he lives, that he is an only child like her, his favourite food and films, his favourite café – and no matter how much information he has supplied to her, her curiosity about him never ceases.

And he returns the same level of interest.

They pass by a makeshift stall hidden somewhere in an alley and Cloud points to it, “Their squid jerkies are the best, by the way.”

“What the hell…” she turns her head to him, “That’s what I was going to say!”

They laugh again. It’s all they have done throughout the night. There is always something to laugh about, mostly over just how similar they are in their thoughts.

They are nearing the intersection that will lead to her home and Tifa slows down her pace. She does not want the night to end. What if they never see each other again? A needless musing, considering that they live in the same city and they practically know where one and the other live. But what if he wants this to end here?

Something stops her walk… a huge brightly lit billboard towering above her neighbourhood. It is an advertisement for a newly released Hewley sneakers. The model stands against a wall, legs positioned in a way that centres his footwear and a sultriness on his face that pulls people to pay attention.

The model is Cloud.

“Uhh… so are you going to tell me that you model for a living or not?”

Cloud stops by her side and looks up to see himself on the billboard. “I figured you’ll find out soon enough…” There is more disappointment than pride on his face. “I look like a mess in that.”

She frowns, “What are you saying?” She takes a glance at the billboard, “You look great! You almost have me convinced that I want those Hewley sneakers.”

“Thanks Tifa…” he smiles, but his eyes remain dull with uncertainty.

There is more to him than he lets on. She just hopes that he will give her the opportunity to find out.

“Okay… I think it’s time for us to part our ways,” she tells, leaving questions about their next meeting in the air for him to clear.

As if he senses her foot-dragging, his smile alters into one with more genuineness as he suggests, “Tifa, let’s meet again.”

Her heart makes a leap of excitement which she tries her best to contain. “Yeah, that would be great.”

She waves him goodbye and makes her way back home. They have not set the time and date for their next meeting but she is certain that it is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The app is meant to be like Tinder, swipe left or right kind of thing. But I've changed the plot so much that I ended up writing about an app that's very reminiscent of chatrooms in the early 2000s instead lmfao 😂


	2. I Think I Want To Get To Know You More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimpses of Cloud and Tifa's day-to-day job and a little heart-to-heart talk.

Entering a spacious room with walls of floor length windows is Cloud. He blows out the exhaustion of a day’s work from his mouth before unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his trousers, leaving merely his briefs on. From a refrigerator at the kitchen area, he grabs a one litre carton of Banora White apple juice and pours himself a glass of it.

He brings the glass with him as he walks over to a three-seater grey sofa where he soon sits on, with one foot resting against a nearby coffee table. On a remote controller, he presses a button to turn on the television and then takes a sip of his juice. When he places his glass onto the table, his eyes remain fixed on the screen.

As he sits idly with legs splayed across the sofa, he sneaks a thumb down into his briefs before running it along the back of the waistband, propping up into view the ‘Genesis’ name that has been stitched onto the fabric. Gradually, he turns his head to his left and finds himself facing the lens of a camera that has been documenting his every move. He gives it a subtle squint from his eyes and a partial smirk from his glossed lips.

The meaner you look, the sexier your audience will find you. That is the golden rule.

“OK CUT!” shouts a hoarse commanding voice belonging to a man who is seated on the director’s chair. “Great work today, Strife,” the man praises as he makes his way to the monitor.

Cloud nods, a wordless way to say his thanks. A squirmy production assistant soon comes over to hand him a towel, which invites another wordless way of showing his appreciation in the form of a smile. The assistant responds with a series of giggles before disappearing into a crowd of others like her.

He encloses the areas around his hips and downwards with the towel and mulls over the word that has been plaguing his mind since the beginning of his photoshoot: _Stupid_. Who comes home from work and takes off their clothes to drink a glass of juice and watch a meaningless show about cats during winter? No one. That is who. He is so close to telling the storyboard writers that they suck. The monthly salary of 20 000 gils and a potential promotion are what stopped him from causing a scene.

From a distance, Cloud discerns an approaching figure of a close friend and colleague, snazzy Zack with his carbon black hair that is over gelled to keep the ends pointy for as long as possible. 

“Man… you’re on FIRE today!” Zack exclaims with arms wide open and a smile that has charmed too many women and a ( _really_ ) pretty girlfriend.

Cloud grins and greets him with a fist bump, “Thanks.”

“I know you hated it though,” Zack, the ever attentive guy quips, inducing a groan out of Cloud that makes him laugh.

A group of other male models pass by, exchanging further fist bumps and high fives with Zack, reactions that are more cordial than the pinched smiles they give to Cloud. He does not bat an eye for he is too used to the way people often shrug him off. In fact, he prefers it that way. Too many friends within one’s circle means too many people to please.

Once all on their own again, Zack links his arms against his chest and asks a predictable question, one that Cloud dreads to answer, “So… how was your date with Ms…What does she call herself again?”

“Anxious heart,” he answers, slightly dubious. The little minion in his head is quite guarded about sharing the experiences he had with his blind date with anyone else. But he knows Zack is relentless.

“Yeah! Ms. _Annnnnnxious heart_ ,” Zack repeats with a mocking tune. He never bothers to hide the fact that he finds the username rather absurd and a bit of a downer. “She must have been pretty, at least?”

Pretty? An understatement. She looks like the first sight of dusk after a whole night of darkness; like a burning fire in the middle of a cold winter night; and like the rain of colourful petals from flowers that grow on trees. Cloud finds himself running out of metaphors to describe how almost spellbinding she looks.

Then again, he cannot let Zack catch him acting a little _too_ interested. “Yeah, she is,” he replies, casually.

Zack’s smile broadens with eagerness, obviously proud of playing the cupid. “Oooh… I’m sensing some real potential here.”

“I… don’t know,” Cloud, who shares none of his enthusiasm admits.

His words rubs the smile off Zack’s face at the speed of light. “Huh? What do you mean you don’t know?”

Cloud has all the answers at his fingertips: first and foremost, Tifa is beautiful – too damn out-of-his-league kind of beautiful for him to be too confident about gaining a mutual level of interest from her. And secondly, the chemistry that ( _he thinks_ ) they share feels more like an old bond between two long-time friends and less impulsively intoxicating like the ones he had with his former love interests. She is different – someone that he still needs to figure out… is how he would define her.

“I just think it’s too early to tell,” he remarks, a succinct summary of his thoughts.

A melodic ping from his phone placed on a nearby table distracts him from realizing that Zack has more to say. He checks the notification that awaits him and grimaces at the sight of it.

_19:00, Bootcamp at Wallace Fitness_

He does not recall setting up a reminder about any bootcamp on his online calendar. “Since when do we do bootcamps?”

“Since I set you guys up for one,” interjects a woman with the name ‘Scarlet’ spelled out on the tag attached to her lanyard. Cloud despises it whenever she creeps up behind him like that, a habit she seems to enjoy doing as a manager from the seventh level of Jenova’s hell who happens to run Shinra’s Modelling Agency like it’s the military. “I can’t have you guys looking like twigs for next month’s covers of ‘Midgar Men’ magazine.”

She turns and points to a twenty-four seater bus waiting outside the studio, “Hurry up and get dressed. I’ll deduct from your salary if the bus has to wait for another minute.”

It takes the thought of having his modelling contract cancelled and Zack’s strong arm dragging him away to the changing room for Cloud not to take a swing at her!

“Who gave her access to our calendars?” Cloud asks, barely concealing the rage in his voice.

Zack is quick to shut the question down, “I don’t want to know.” His manner has less to do with actual indifference, and more to do with a way of coping to survive.

Cloud does not press on; he gets it all too well. He forces himself to focus on catching the bus instead for Zack’s sake, a task that is not as hard as he made it seem, all thanks to their talent of dressing up within no more than three minutes.

His end look is decidedly not flattering. He looks like a mess in his black tank top, short red training pants and worn out blue sneakers. But who cares? It is just a trip to the gym. He cannot afford to have more of his pay cut down for delaying the bus, and so does the trendier Zack.

Wallace Fitness is only fifteen minutes away from the modelling studio. The bus has to take them through streets that are lined with places to eat, a skateboarding park and corporate offices before making a left turn at an intersection that would take them to a building that have exterior walls sprayed with offbeat graffito. A step into the gym grinds his senses with the smell of stale sweat, grunts of pain and the clanking of metals.

The owner, a powerfully built man who wears his hair in box braids and towers above almost everyone else in the gym recognizes the group Cloud is in and skips generic introductions to call someone, “Yo Tifa! The boys are here!”

His heart makes a hop over the name that has been called. There must be… another Tifa in a city as big as Midgar, right?

Except… he is _wrong_.

Her figure soon manifested before him. Only this time, she is no longer in her gold backless sequin dress. Instead, she has on her a grey sports bra and a black running leggings. Her hair is tied into a long ponytail at the back of her head and her bare face glistens with sweat. A less glamorous version of her… but still stunning enough to stop his lungs from breathing for a second.

Suddenly, he feels conscious about his mismatched outfit and messy hair. He blasts a curse to Gaia for reuniting them while he looks like a dollar store version of himself!

To his horror, her face animates with recognition when she sees him. He returns the friendly wave of her hand with his own. He does not need to find out if Zack is watching; he knows that Zack’s eyes are on him.

***

“Tifa may look a little too small and pretty to some of you but _don’t_ underestimate her!” Mr. Wallace had warned.

And he did not lie.

Cloud witnesses the way Tifa transforms into a literal lioness as a fitness instructor. Jog, sprint, pushed ups, squats, jumping jacks, planks, bench presses and the likes of them all… there is almost nothing that she would not make them do. The workouts normally last for no more than thirty minutes but it often feels like they are doing them for hours.

She makes them toil to a point where their faces would go beet red with eyes that only see stars, and joints that start popping. It is like she is a rolling pin and they are just a dough ready to be squished and rolled without mercy.

Lucky for some, stamina build up comes much easier, steadily turning the workouts more bearable. Cloud is not one of them.

It is day number twelve and he is still struggling to keep up without feeling like he is going to collapse on the floor, while Zack and some others are already treating the bootcamp sessions like it is a breeze.

So here he is, still at the gym after the day’s bootcamp had finished more than an hour ago, wearing boxing gloves and punching a hanging bag with frustration and a hope that he will become stronger in due time. He strikes on the bag with all his might, rattling its chains as it swings to a certain projectile. At the twentieth punch, he grunts over the pain that shoots all the way from his fist to his elbow and stops before lying down onto the floor.

Cloud closes his eyes for a brief second and reopens them to find Tifa staring down at him with a smile that balms the soreness he is feeling all over his body.

She presents to him an isotonic drink that she holds in one of her hands, “Here, for you.”

“Thanks,” he keenly accepts her offer and sits up to let the cold and carbonated drink quench his dry throat.

She joins him by his side and imitates the way his legs spread forward across the floor.

“I am not doing great at all, am I?” he blurts out, finding himself in need of her expert opinion on his progress.

She frowns at his words as if he speaks a language that is alien to her, “What are you saying? You’re doing fine, Cloud.”

Her verdict somewhat annoys him. It is almost as if it deprives his concerns of any merit. “Stop trying to make me feel better.”

“I am not,” she counters, sounding a little hurt. “You _are_ doing fine. So stop being too hard on yourself.”

His tongue freezes. When he turns to her, he sees that she is averting his gaze. It makes him realize how much he does not want the uneasiness they are feeling towards one another to last any longer.

“Sorry… I’m just angry with myself,” he confesses, feeling a little pathetic about himself. “You know how it is with us models under Shinra… the expectations and everything.”

The tension between them eases and she is finally looking at him again, “Too much people to compete with?”

He shakes his head; his workplace friendship may be almost non-existent but he is certain that it is not an issue. There is a more pressing truth that he finds it hard to own up to, “No… more like a competition with myself.”

“Sephiroth’s really good in selling that message about being the better version of yourself, you know?” he remarks, citing the agency’s top achieving model before chuckling at his younger self for being reeled in. “You know him, don’t you?”

“Uhh… yeah, I do,” she replies, after a short pause.

He glances at her and does not miss the pinkish hue on her cheeks. It does not bother him because who does not blush at the mention of Sephiroth’s name? Men and women alike would fall all over his feet. He did, once upon a time.

“I can’t… just live up to that fantasy,” he mutters, ashamed to even admit it.

She heaves a sigh, of resignation or disappointment, he cannot tell. He only fears that he has turned her off and she decides to desert him… until he hears her ask, “Do you really think that I’ll let you go on like this?”

It makes him smile because he knows the answer to her question.

Much to his amusement, she starts flexing her arms to reveal remarkable bulges of muscles, “With these guns, I’ll make sure that you grow as strong as you want to be!” Then she wags a finger, "No slacking off!"

He snorts and start chortling in between gasps of air when he can no longer contain himself. His voice echoes throughout the emptiness of the gym, filling in the otherwise quiet vicinity with noise.

The end of his laughter meets the twinkle Tifa has on her lips that shines with clarity from her crimson red eyes. It brings a promise of her continued presence that he most welcome in his life.


End file.
